


What's done in darkness

by oddishly



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bad Guys Made Them Do It, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 10:43:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11251485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddishly/pseuds/oddishly
Summary: Merlin thinks about revealing his magic, and doesn't.





	What's done in darkness

**Author's Note:**

> **Extremely dubious consent** of the evil druid made them do it variety. Feel free to comment or email [my username]@gmail.com for more details.
> 
> glovered sliced and diced this into something a thousand times better than the original. Thanks for losing sleep with me, doll.

They’re less than a day from Camelot when Gwaine, bringing up the rear of the party, pulls his horse up short on their route past a cave and says, “Sire? Something’s not right here.”

Merlin holds his horse steady and watches as Arthur rides over to take a look. The cave looks like any of the others dotted through the forest, set beneath an overhang that makes it easy to miss. But there’s a cool frisson about the air that feels like magic against Merlin’s skin, unfamiliar in a way that he doesn’t trust. The long grass they’ve been wading through is wilting at the cave’s entrance despite the early spring, and even after the gentle daylong rain, the earth is dusty. Merlin doesn’t like it.

Arthur seems to agree. He dismounts, waving Merlin over to do the same. Merlin stifles a sigh as he hands Percival the reins and goes to peer inside the cave as well. A long second later, Arthur turns to him, eyebrow raised expectantly.

“You can’t make me go in there,” Merlin says.

Arthur makes him.

Merlin scowls at Arthur’s back as his lord and master whistles his way in, and the knights follow suit. In a short time the cave entrance has grown small behind them.

The air is wet and cool but not from rain, a breeze trailing across Merlin’s skin that carries the scent of salt and metal, nothing that should be in the air so close to the citadel.

Merlin looks around them. “Arthur,” he begins, which is when the air around them shivers and pitch dark falls.

There’s a loud clatter as the knights pull their swords from their sheaths.

“Whatever you did, Merlin,” murmurs Arthur in his ear. “ _Un_ do it.” He follows this up with a distressingly well-aimed punch to Merlin’s shoulder.

“I didn’t do anything!” Merlin whispers back. “In fact I was the one who didn’t want to come in here in the first--”

“Shh!”

They all quiet as the cave lights up again with the splutter and glow of an oil lamp being lit, yellow under Leon’s chin. He hands it to Arthur, the light of the flames licking up the walls to reveal a sunken passageway a little way ahead, a long line of unlit lamps fixed to the walls on either side.

Merlin catches Arthur’s eye. His expression is one of grim resignation as he sets off down the passageway, already exhausted from the week’s attempt on a bandit stronghold in the north of the kingdom, and now this. Magic.

“Sire, everything seems normal,” Gwaine mutters. “Nothing to investigate at all except how well-stocked your kitchens are. That’s what I should have said.” He glowers at his reflection in the blade.

The passage descends quickly, widening just enough to allow the knights to walk side by side with Merlin and Arthur. Every so often one of the oil lamps on the wall flickers alight as if someone is walking silent and invisible ahead of them, the line of Arthur’s mouth thinning each time. Merlin reaches out with his magic, feeling unsuccessfully for whoever is leading their way and hoping they aren’t about to be surprised by Morgana.

They come to a stop before a fork in their route.

Arthur looks from passage to identical passage. “Anyone have a preference?”

“That way?” Merlin points back the way they’ve come.

“Left it is,” says Arthur, and claps him on the back. “You first, Merlin.”

Merlin opens his mouth to protest, but before he can get a word in, Percival says, “Sire!” in an urgent whisper, nodding down the right-hand tunnel. In the sudden silence, Merlin hears swords being drawn further along, carelessly loud, and something that feels like magic curling through the cold air.

Arthur tenses. “Leon, Elyan,” he begins in a whisper, before darkness falls all over again. “Oh, for the love of--” Merlin steps forward to press his shoulder to Arthur’s.

The noise of the men ahead grows louder, ringing swords reverberating around the tunnel.

“On me!” Arthur shouts, and the knights immediately run forward, shouting to each other as they enter the fray.

Merlin grabs Arthur’s arm. “Something isn’t right.”

“Clearly!” Arthur snaps, and tries to shake him off. Merlin rolls his eyes even though Arthur can’t see and grips tighter. “Let go!”

“Hold on a second,” says Merlin, trying to hear.

“So help me, Merlin--”

“Listen!”

Arthur falls quiet. Merlin squints his eyes shut, which makes no difference in the absolute pitch, and tries to listen beyond the clang and echo of swords, the knights falling on an unseen foe. He can pick out the sound of Elyan’s voice and Leon’s shouted reply, a scuffle in the corner that turns into Gwaine laughing. Elyan shouts again and Percival curses, more scuffling and Gwaine laughing again and then, inexplicably, Merlin hears his own voice shouting instructions from the far side of the cavern.

Arthur’s arm stiffens under Merlin’s hand. He’s heard it too.

“Arthur--”

“Yes,” says Arthur, catching on remarkably quickly. “Funny. You’re just as insubordinate when it isn’t even the real you.”

Merlin’s mouth drops open. “And you’re just as much of a--”

Arthur shakes Merlin’s hand off and steps forward into the dark. “Enough!” he bellows. “Whoever you are, reveal yourself!”

A moment passes before silence rings out, the oil lamps catching flame as one. Merlin blinks at what the light reveals: Gwaine on his knees, both hands dropping from a neck that’s no longer there, Elyan’s sword arm extended, his blade stuck through thin air in the centre of the cavern, and Percival and Leon, who appear shocked to find they’ve apparently been engaged in fighting each other. They lower their swords sheepishly.

Other than that, they are very much alone.

“Well, that’s embarrassing,” says Gwaine, climbing to his feet. He grins at Leon over his shoulder but fails to hide his unease, walking back to where Merlin and Arthur are standing. “Didn’t fancy getting egg on your face, sire?”

“No,” says Arthur shortly.

“Ah, well, there’s always--”

Instead of finishing his sentence, Gwaine bounces off the air in front of Arthur like it’s a stone wall, and hits the floor. 

Arthur raises his eyebrows as Gwaine gets back up to his feet, scowling. Merlin swallows a laugh at the dainty steps he takes back toward them. But his smile disappears when Gwaine hits that invisible wall again. “It’s like there’s some sort of barrier,” he says. “Whatever this is, it wasn’t here a minute ago.”

“Sire.” Leon crosses from one side of the cave to the other and presses a hand to the air as if against glass. “It must be sorcery. Unless we can break through, I don’t think we’re going to be leaving the same way as we arrived.” 

On the far side of the wall, Elyan tests the point of his sword against the air, then swings. The long edge of the blade stops in the air without a sound. Percival raises his arms and hammers them down against the barrier. “Doesn’t feel like anything,” he says, muscles trembling against the air. “Just can’t get through it.”

Arthur walks closer. He lifts his hand until it’s almost level with Leon’s, stopping only when Merlin says, “Careful.”

Arthur seems to realise the risk is to sticking his hand through an invisible, uncrossable boundary in space, and pulls it back. He bends to pick up a pebble on the ground instead and throws it through, and they all watch it fall through the air without pause, skittering to a halt somewhere beyond Percival’s feet.

Arthur arches his eyebrows. “Good call, Merlin.” 

“Do you think it’s supposed to keep us out? Or,” Merlin gestures, “them in?”

Arthur doesn’t reply. He steps over a stray oil lamp and shouts, “Where are you? Come out, sorcerer. Show yourself!”

Merlin wonders just who they pissed off this time. If the other sorcerer casts them into darkness again, Merlin will be able to make himself useful and try to solve this problem with magic of his own. But for now-- 

“There!” shout Elyan and Gwaine together, their hands going to their swords.

Merlin sinks into the shadows as someone, swathed in cloaks and forbidding, idles down the tunnel. 

It’s hard to focus on the figure though the light is full, and after a moment, Merlin realises he can’t hear footsteps, despite the still-fading echo of the knights’ shouts. Then the person reaches with one hand to pull their hood deeper and Merlin catches sight of blue triskelions beneath the fabric.

Arthur watches narrow-eyed as the druid approaches, coming to a stop some way beyond the reach of his sword. Merlin stays where he is in the shadows, trying to get a good look.

“What a pity. You had to go and spoil my fun,” says the druid. It’s definitely not Morgana, Merlin notes with relief. His voice is rough and many-toned, like a broken chorus of birdsong. “I was just getting started. How’d you know?”

“Merlin doesn’t give the orders,” says Arthur. “I do.”

“And who is it that you are, then?”

“Arthur Pendragon.” Arthur stands tall. “King of Camelot.”

The druid pauses. Merlin suspects he is looking between them before turning towards Merlin himself, staring a long time before saying in that strange voice, “Ah. I see.”

Merlin sinks back away from the gaze, magic prickling in his fingertips.

Arthur shoulders in front of him. “You see what?”

“Who I’m talking to,” says the druid. “Your reputation precedes you.”

Arthur looks from Merlin to the druid in bewilderment. “I--yes. If you didn’t know who I was, then who were you hoping to capture?”

““This trap doesn’t normally have kings of Camelot stumbling into it. And I don’t know that I would call it captured, either. I have no doubt you could break through my little barrier if you wanted to. Given your...many talents.”

Merlin sweats. Arthur, however, sounds unimpressed. “Your confidence is misplaced. Now, if you’d be so good as to remove the barrier yourself, we’ll be on our way.”

“What will you give me if I do?”

Merlin grits his teeth and projects to the druid, _Anything. Whatever you want._

Voice dripping with sarcasm, Arthur says, “My sincere promise not to execute you.”

“That’s quite the offer. But I’m going to need something more specific.”

_Name your price._

“Seems pretty specific to me,” says Arthur over Merlin’s thoughts.

“No, Arthur Pendragon, I’m afraid your promises mean little. You and your father have done quite well at bringing my people to our knees. You walk with a constant and compelling reminder to beg those of us with magic for our forgiveness and yet, you do not….what would you do in my place?”

Arthur is frowning. “Constant and--my mother and father both died of magic. What would you do in mine?”

Merlin shuts his eyes. _Stop this. I’ll come back when they’re gone. Or, well, not, if you want._

The druid ignores him, although Merlin is sure he’s heard. He tips his head to one side and the hood droops, revealing pale skin and a sharp jawline. He’s slighter than the magical fill of the cloak suggests, and again it tugs at Merlin’s memory. Then the druid fixes the draping and the elusive memory blurs over.

Merlin shakes his head.

“Well?” says Arthur.

“I think,” the druid says, “I would like you to lie with one of your men.”

Arthur gapes. 

“How dare you speak to the king like that,” says Leon, but is stopped by the barrier.

“I beg your pardon.”

The druid continues. “Here. Now. Then I’ll let you go.”

Arthur stands as still as Merlin beside him, as a soft, bitter ache moves into Merlin’s chest. 

“Well?” says the druid. “Nothing to say?”

“You can’t be serious,” Arthur manages at last. When no answer is forthcoming he shakes his head. “No. Just-- no.”

The druid is nodding. “Yes.”

Arthur looks over his shoulder at the knights and then back at the druid, disbelief written across his face. “You want me to lie with one of my men. Ridiculous. Why would you possibly want such a thing?”

“I told you,” says the druid. He looks from Arthur to Merlin beside him. “You brought my people to our knees. Now it’s your turn.”

The druid continues to look Merlin’s way, and Merlin casts his eyes to the ground, starting to gather spells in his head, silent and unobtrusive. Something that Arthur will forgive him for, eventually.

“And,” the druid adds, nearly as an afterthought, “I don’t want you to lie with just any of your men, I want you to lie with _that_ man.” He raises an arm, finger extended.

“What?” says Arthur.

He looks to Merlin and immediately away. 

_Oh_ , Merlin thinks in a daze.

“What-- Merlin?” Arthur lets out a terrible laugh.

Merlin’s breath is coming quick and short, and he can see the same brilliant, awful flush heating his skin on Arthur’s face. Dull panic sets off in his head. He’s let go of his spell, he realises. He gathers it in his mind once more, all the bloody threads and dark whispers he’s never needed to vocalise. 

Merlin realises belatedly that his mouth is hanging open and closes it. Then he opens it again to say, “That sounds like a terrible idea. Like, really bad, actually.”

“Merlin is my--incompetent manservant.” Arthur frowns his way.

“I know exactly who he is,” says the druid. “And you will do what I say.”

The knights are clamouring against the invisible wall dividing them from Merlin and Arthur. Merlin tries to focus on the horror on Leon’s face, tries to feel it too, but finds he can’t. He shifts to the rage seething out of Elyan, and Gwaine’s fists beating against the air, and doesn’t know how to look at Arthur.

“I am the king of Camelot,” say Arthur, his voice barely above a whisper.

“As you’ve said.”

“Well what is it you want? Do you want gold? Land? A seat in the court? I can give you any of it.”

“No,” says the druid. “As I said. You and your manservant. Here. Now.”

Merlin tries to take a step closer but Arthur reaches back blindly to stop him with a hand to the chest.

“Why?” says Merlin. He’s trying very hard not to think about any of it. He focuses instead on the feeling of Arthur’s fingers. “I don’t understand.”

The druid settles himself back against a ledge like a patient audience. “You don’t have to understand.”

“Like hell,” snaps Gwaine, startling Merlin into turning. Gwaine is prowling along the wall dividing the knights from the two of them. “If you think you can get away with hurting either of them and still leave with your head still attached, you’re mistaken.”

“Is that so?” says the druid. He sounds bored.

Gwaine yanks his sword out of its sheath and begins hacking at the wall of air. “Yes, it’s so. Let them go.”

“Gwaine,” says Leon in a warning tone.

Gwaine ignores him. “You can’t just--decide, that you want to--do this to the king, and I’m going to show you why.”

“Calm yourself,” says the druid sharply. “This isn’t helping your king.”

“Don’t care,” says Gwaine through his teeth as he swings. “It’ll help when you...lose concentration, or whatever it is that happens to people like you, at times like this, and the king--”

Merlin sees it when the druid loses patience. He jerks his hand and every knight in the cave fumbles for his own vanished sword, and then staggers at the sound Gwaine is making, hands clapped over his ears and rolling through cave dust.

“Stop!” Arthur shouts. He exchanges a desperate look with Merlin. “Stop. I just. I can’t.”

The druid sighs. He waves a theatrical hand at Gwaine, breaking his howls. “Fine. If you really find him that objectionable, pick one of the others and have your way with him.”

“Sire--any one of us would take Merlin’s place--” says Elyan, kneeling at Gwaine’s side.

“Yes,” says Arthur dully.

Bile rises in Merlin’s throat at the thought of any of the knights taking on his trial, though he’s very sure the druid is only suggesting it to bait him, anyway. “No. I’ll do it.”

“Look, Merlin, no one here doubts your courage, but--”

“No,” says Merlin again, louder. He turns his back before Percival can see whatever look is on his face. “I’ll do it, it’s not--it doesn’t matter. I’m Arthur’s manservant, better me than any of you.”

He can’t bring himself to look at any of them, especially Arthur, silent at his side. Whatever the horrified expressions on each of the knights’ faces, it’s nothing on what they would look like if they knew Merlin could magic them all out of this tragedy in a second. If ever there was the time to reveal his magic, now is the time. But the seconds tick by, and Merlin can’t find the courage.

“Merlin,” says brave, loyal Leon. “No one here thinks that means you should be--forced to--with anyone. Any of us--”

“It’s fine,” interrupts Merlin. He wants to be sick. He wants to flay the druid’s skin off his body and watch him die in agony. “It’s--Arthur’s not that bad, you know.”

No one says anything.

Arthur makes a soft noise in his throat, forcing Merlin to look over or betray himself. Arthur’s face is pale, features stark in the flickering shadows.

“Merlin,” he says quietly. “Come on. You’re being ridiculous. Just let--any of my knights would--you can’t pretend you’re comfortable with this.”

“What’s not to be comfortable with?” says Merlin.

“Do you want a list?”

“Arthur, I’m your friend.”

“Not after this!”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” says Merlin. He musters a smile from somewhere. “You’re already married and I happen to like your wife. Alive,” he adds as an afterthought. “It can be quick, let’s just get this over with.”

A long second passes.

“Sire,” says Merlin, throwing pride and caution to the wind. “Do I need to beg you?”

Arthur turns away, colour high.

“Or,” Merlin continues recklessly, “we could just--”

He cuts himself off, startled by the feeling of cool metal pulling his wrists back to the wall. Arthur looks back, frowning. 

There are cuffs around Merlin’s wrists that hadn’t been there before, connected by a long, heavy chain roped through an iron loop in the wall. He raises his arms and can’t get them higher than shoulder-height, stopped by the chain behind his back. 

Merlin leans forward, straining against the heavy metal after only a step. He finds he is having trouble breathing, and plucks at his magic.

“I wouldn’t,” says the druid, as if sensing his thoughts.

Arthur stalks forward, reaching for the sword that has vanished from its sheath and curling his fingers, ready to grip and throw instead. Merlin holds the spell in his mind ready to hurl at the druid, deciding that Arthur dying at the hands of this druid is the kind of situation where revealing his magic is the least-bad option. “Take it off.”

The druid stays where he is, apparently unfazed by Arthur’s seething rage. “One step more and I’ll chain his feet, too.”

Arthur falters and stops, distress shaping the lines of his body.

Merlin looks down, mouthing the spell that would break the chain off the wall and then wrap it around the druid’s neck. Just to confirm that he knows it.

“Whatever problem you have with me,” says Arthur, “Merlin has nothing to do with it.”

“But I don’t have a problem with you,” says the druid. “Unless you’re planning on declining my suggestion. Then I’ll have a very large problem indeed.”

“Stop talking in riddles. Your _suggestion_ is abhorrent.”

“Then choose someone else.”

“Chain me up instead. Let Merlin go.”

The druid inclines his head and the movement lets the light from the candles touch his neck again. The line of his jaw is clean, skin unmarred by scars or blue ink; he can’t be any older than Merlin is.

“An interesting offer,” says the druid, and now his voice is almost familiar, plucking chords in Merlin’s memory. “But we know that wouldn’t achieve the same thing, hmm?”

He shakes the hood back in place and the fleeting impression is gone. “Enough of this. My lord,” he says, with a mocking bow and a gesture towards Merlin, “Take him, or kill him.” He twirls Arthur’s sword in his hand. “I don’t care which.”

Arthur turns to look at Merlin. Merlin thinks about everything he has protected Arthur from until now, all the times he’s saved Arthur and been saved in return, only to become the person Arthur needs protecting from. He raises his chin. “Come on, then.”

Arthur edges back, puts a hand on Merlin’s neck, then his arm, his waist. His eyes are wide and dark.

The knights have fallen silent, though Merlin is sure that if he glanced sideways Gwaine would be standing furious at the barrier, the others in varying stages of rage and attempts to give Arthur privacy. He doesn’t look.

“Come on,” he says again, and Arthur makes an aborted gesture as if he’s about to pat Merlin on the shoulder but thinks better of it. His hand lands on the chain, around the cuff.

“Ignore it,” says Merlin. “It’s nothing. Not so different to the stocks.”

Arthur narrows his eyes, murmuring without missing a beat, “Clearly I need to find a different punishment for you, if the stocks are so comfortable.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” says Merlin. “Wouldn’t mind a cushion to kneel on, for instance.”

“Silk linings for your wrists, no doubt.”

“Vegetables presented to me instead of thrown at me.”

Arthur’s mouth tips into a brief attempt at a smile. He says, “I thought you rather enjoyed that part, actually. Are you sure--”

“Yes.”

Arthur walks Merlin back to lean against the wall. He says, “Try not to think about it.”

They both jump when Leon lets out a series of very loud coughs.

“Sir Leon,” says Elyan with concern. “How are you feeling?”

“Think I’m coming down with something,” says Leon. “Cold winter, no sleep. Long hours sitting in a damp cave--”

Arthur places his hand on Merlin’s chest but then looks almost resigned when Percival gives in to a cavernous sneeze.

“That sounds nasty, Percival,” says Gwaine, as Leon contains detailing his ails. “Are you ill, too?”

“You know, I could well be,” comes Percival’s response.

Merlin smirks at the look on Arthur’s face. “They’re your knights,” he murmurs. “Hand-picked. Greatest in the kingdom.”

“Don’t remind me,” says Arthur in the same tone. He very slightly inclines his head toward the druid. “We can still get out of this, you know. Just because he’s a sorcerer who managed to capture Camelot’s finest single-handedly and without warning--”

“Hey, don’t forget he also captured me--”

“--and my manservant, single-handedly and without warning--he’s even skinnier than you are. How hard could it be, really?” Arthur shrugs. “I could take him.”

“Never a bad time to fish for a compliment, is it?” says Merlin. “Yes, sire, you’re _very_ strong. Brave and noble. Honest and true. My hero.”

“You missed good-looking,” says Arthur, slowly falling to one knee before Merlin. “And honourable and--”

Merlin brings one hand up to his mouth and yawns loud and expansively. “Sorry,” he says. “Missed that last one. You’ll have to tell me later.”

The smirk falls from Merlin’s face when Arthur looks consideringly at the laces of Merlin’s breeches as if he’s going into battle. 

“Nothing you’re not already familiar with,” he says, as his fingers brush the front of Merlin’s trousers in a perverse reversal of their normal roles. Merlin should be undressing him, not the other way around. Arthur murmurs, “There’s not much you have left to learn about me.”

Merlin tips his head back against the wall. “Well. I pay attention.”

“When it suits you,” Arthur agrees. Then, raising his voice for the druid, “I’ve agreed to your terms. Now let my men go.”

“Why would I do that?” comes the response.

“Why wouldn’t you?” Merlin speaks before Arthur can, hoping the druid hears the warning in his voice even if Arthur doesn’t.

 _Let them go,_ he says silently when the druid doesn’t respond. _Harm them at your peril._

“Oh, fine,” says the druid at last. There’s a blaze of light and one of the knights stumbles forwards, signalling the disappeared wall. “Off you go, that’s it. Lay a hand on me or either of these two and learn how inventive I can be in punishment.”

Merlin hazards a glance down at Arthur, then immediately regrets it. Arthur, on his knees, fingers entangled in the laces. But his insides twist at the look on Arthur’s face, the shame and anger at being reduced to asking a sorcerer for favours. “We’ll see you outside,” he tells the knights, pushing his guilt down deep when Arthur says nothing.

Merlin shuts his eyes at the sound of their desultory footsteps, opening them again only when the last echo has faded and Arthur’s hand has begun to tremble.

The iron loop presses into the small of his back. The stone is cool and Arthur’s face shows grey sorrow. Merlin wonders again what Arthur would say if he found out Merlin could put a stop to all this with a snap of his fingers, if he knew how cowardly Merlin was, and whether he’d kill him or leave him.

“Arthur,” says Merlin, then bites down hard on his lip when Arthur fully opens the front of Merlin’s trousers and touches him.

Arthur’s eyes are dark, mouth red in the lamplight. Without the knights, or the druid, or the salty breeze rising up through the cave, Merlin can almost convince himself that this is happening in Arthur’s chambers at the end of a day. The image comes accidentally and remains as Merlin’s heart speeds up. He stares as Arthur pulls him out, bites his lip as Arthur’s mouth sinks down his cock, his tongue curling around the underside.

Everything that isn’t Arthur’s wet mouth is becoming distant. Merlin loses his breath watching Arthur get used to the thickness of him, drawing his mouth down sure and steady and back up when he gags a bit. He uses his hand then lets go and brushes his hair out of his eyes before getting his mouth back on Merlin’s cock.

Merlin bites down on his tongue to stop himself from babbling nonsense. Arthur looks up at him as his head bobs down, eyes narrowing like he knows how Merlin feels. He can probably feel the tension where his hand is gripping Merlin’s thigh.

Merlin squeezes his eyes shut and hits his head back hard against the stone wall, wrists aching and breath impossible to draw in.

Arthur slows, pausing halfway down Merlin’s cock. He slides back off and replaces his mouth with his hand again. “I promised to do this years ago.”

“Think I’d have remembered that,” Merlin manages to gasp.

“You were too busy being insubordinate to listen,” says Arthur. His hand moves tight and slow down Merlin’s cock. “So nothing’s really changed, but--”

Water leaks out of Merlin’s eyes when he gets it. “Your version of one blow and mine are different. You hit me daily. Besides, I’m all chained up, anyone could take me apart like this.”

“They’re not, though, are they,” says Arthur after a moment, and puts his mouth back.

Merlin groans. He tries to get his breath back, has to shut his eyes to the sight of Arthur’s mouth wide around him. “I lied. I remembered. I’ve been waiting. You owe me ten years of this.” His voice gets lost as Arthur sucks harder. He leaves his hand at the base of Merlin’s cock and twists as his tongue curls around and up the head. “God, Arthur--”

Arthur _hmms_ and Merlin makes himself take a long breath then opens his eyes again, staring at the flush on Arthur’s cheeks, his glistening lips. He can feel his legs shaking. He gets his hand in Arthur’s hair, making a bad attempt at suppressing the urge to fuck in.

Arthur pulls off and says, “Do it, it’s okay, that’s an order,” and gets his mouth around the head of Merlin’s cock but doesn’t move. Merlin curses under his breath and does as he’s told, bucking his hips and pulling Arthur’s head down with his fingers still in his hair.

He’s not going to last. “I, Arthur, I’m going to--”

Arthur goes deeper and back up to swallow when Merlin comes, sparks going off behind his eyes. His head thuds against the wall and he opens his eyes to see Arthur’s hand squeezing through his own breeches as he licks at Merlin’s cock. “Oh,” says Merlin, dazed, trying to get himself together and certain he’ll never be able to forget this image.

He grasps Arthur’s arms and hauls him to his feet, dragging him in so Merlin can tip his own head down. He breathes heavy into Arthur’s neck, trying to maintain the facade of privacy.

“Well done,” says Merlin eventually. Arthur sputters and Merlin smirks, mouthing at his neck. He isn’t sure what tone to go for or how his voice would come out if he let himself give in. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Arthur says in his ear, “Have you ever done this before?”

“No. But don’t worry, I won’t break.”

“Good,” says Arthur, and presses closer. “That’s unless--”

Arthur looks over his shoulder.

“Keep going,” says the druid coolly.

Arthur’s eyes flare. Merlin catches hold of him, fingers tight around his wrists. He gives Arthur a shake, moves his hand to his cheek and snaps, “Hey.”

“Yeah,” says Arthur, glowering. 

Merlin considers. He puts his hands on Arthur’s belt, pulling him closer and unbuckling it at the same time.

He pulls at the chain, trying to decide if it’s long enough to let him lift Arthur’s chainmail over his head, and looks up in time to catch a stricken look flit across Arthur’s face. “What?”

Arthur coughs. “Nothing.” He steps away, putting enough space between them that he can grab the bottom of his chainmail. “I can manage.”

“I’ve done this hundreds of times. Don’t tell me you’re picking _now_ to give me time off. Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Um,” says Arthur, looking lost. His expression clears. “Ah. No tavern for miles.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. He doesn’t really know what to make of them doing everything they can to make this normal. He puts the thought on hold and pulls Arthur back with his fingers hooked in the chainmail, lifting the shirt as high on Arthur as he can get his arms.

Arthur puts his hands on top of Merlin’s and closes his fingers tighter. He drops to his knees again, one after the other, letting Merlin lift the chainmail over his head as he goes. It falls in a puddle beside them, leaving Arthur in just his white undershirt and breeches.

They stare at each other for a long second. 

Merlin wants to apologise, to promise that they’ll come back and kill the druid either way. He drags Arthur to his feet instead, and slides his hand into his breeches and grasps his cock. Arthur drops his head and says, “God.”

Merlin tightens his fingers and Arthur tips an inch closer, mouth open. Merlin wants something but he isn’t sure. He rocks against Arthur, and leans in and licks his come off from around his mouth, wrapping his other hand around the back of Arthur’s neck. He breathes against Arthur’s mouth, the bitter taste of his come on his lips. Arthur moans, knees buckling.

“Scared?” says Merlin at last against his mouth, arching. The iron loop in the wall is digging into his back but he doesn’t want this to stop.

“Goading me won’t work.”

“Well, I’ve never claimed to be subtle.”

“That’s because no one would believe you,” says Arthur, and nudges his knee between Merlin’s. Then he stops, casting around them. 

He grabs at the lamp rolling around at their feet, dipping his fingers into the oil well. Merlin can’t look away; Arthur’s lip is caught between his teeth when he stops with his hand uplifted between them, slick rolling down his knuckles.

Merlin’s cock twitches. “Know what you’re doing?”

“I always know what I’m doing, Merlin.”

“I don’t doubt it, sire,” Merlin murmurs, not recognising his own voice. Arthur looks at him without replying and horribly he can feel himself blush.

Arthur says, “I’m going to--”

“Yeah,” says Merlin, and loses his breath at the pressure of Arthur’s fingers inside him. Arthur’s knee is pressed against the inside of one of Merlin’s, holding his legs open, fingers of his other hand wrapped firmly around Merlin’s forearm by the cuff. He pushes his fingers deeper, pulls out, and adds another, fucking Merlin with care.

Merlin is trembling. He clenches his fists and releases them again, heavy metal clanging against the wall. “Go on, I’m ready, do it.”

Arthur pulls his fingers out and doesn't hesitate, holding his cock against Merlin and pushing inside. Merlin tips his head forward. He wants to see.

“Touch yourself,” says Arthur quietly, and when Merlin doesn’t respond except to moan, puts his hand on Merlin’s and wraps it around his cock. Merlin doesn’t let him let go, but links their fingers and breathes heavy as Arthur pulls his cock, slow and in time with his own thrust in.

Merlin can feel Arthur holding his breath. His teeth are sunk into his lower lip, forehead pressed against Merlin's. Trying not to think about it too hard, Merlin lifts his free hand and brushes the hair away from Arthur's face.

“Stop shaking,” murmurs Arthur, his hand moving on Merlin’s cock. “You’re giving me a complex.”

Merlin tries very hard to get himself under control, focusing on anything that isn’t Arthur full inside him, setting off every nerve in his body. He doesn’t know if he wants Arthur to gentle him or let go and fuck him like it means nothing. “Just--”

Arthur seems to get it. He pulls slowly out of Merlin and then back in, closes Merlin’s own fingers around his cock and braces himself against the wall above Merlin’s shoulder. He thrusts in harder.

Merlin lets his hand slide down Arthur’s face to his neck. Arthur’s gaze flicks up to his, hot and wanting even while he drives his cock into Merlin, what Merlin thinks is a perfect reflection of his own expression. He breathes in hard, curling his fingers around Arthur’s neck, wanting him closer, harder. The loop digs into the small of his back and he arches away from it and deeper onto Arthur. 

Arthur’s mouth drops open and once Merlin has noticed he can’t drag his eyes away. He wants to let this keep going until it stops so they can pretend it never happened the way they always do when big things happen, but maybe now that’s not enough.

Arthur’s eyes flicker as he pushes in again, hands tight on Merlin. Merlin is about to say something, like Arthur’s name, but finds Arthur’s mouth on his before he can manage it.

The kiss is light and their mouths fit badly until Arthur pushes in again, tilting his head and bringing a hand up to Merlin’s neck. One of them makes a sound and brings their bodies closer. Merlin’s breath comes sharp.

They break apart, hesitate, and then Merlin makes a frustrated noise in his throat and drags Arthur back, vibrating with the strangeness of it. Arthur’s kiss feels like an apology and this is the last way Merlin ever wanted this to happen but he’s had to do a lot of adapting to circumstance since Arthur. He doesn’t know what this is but he wants it anyway. He moves his hand up Arthur’s forearm, wants his mouth more and harder, tries to focus on his cock and not forget the feeling of kissing him.

They’re making a lot of noise. Merlin is starting to lose his grip on reality, stripping his cock while Arthur moves his mouth to his neck, fingers tight around his arm like he can make Merlin forget what’s happening, out to a win a fight even now.

Merlin realises he is moaning Arthur’s name over and over as Arthur slams into him. He drags his hand down Arthur's chest, tightening in the white undershirt and down to his stomach, feeling Arthur's body react. Merlin is so close to coming again and this is so much. 

Arthur notices. “Release him,” he says through his teeth, then repeats himself, louder, for the druid. “Take off the chain.”

Merlin lets his head fall back. “I don’t care--”

“I never listen to you,” says Arthur, rough and ragged.

The chain vanishes and with it the druid in the hushed breeze. Merlin doesn’t care. He puts his hands around Arthur’s neck and drags his head back, feels his mouth open against his skin and struggles for breath. Arthur’s thrusts stagger until he’s coming, biting down on Merlin’s shoulder through his shirt, loud and angry. Merlin groans when Arthur fumbles for his cock, fist closing around the head and jerking Merlin as he comes between them.

They stay where they are for a long time before Arthur coughs and pulls out, stepping away without another word.

The knights avoid looking at them when they emerge from the cave and into the rain. Merlin suspects he should feel embarrassed but really he just wants Arthur to look at him, or to cuff his ear. Or at least look like he’s thinking about it.

They’re in reach of the horses when Leon says, “My lord. None of us-- I mean, we didn’t--You don’t need to worry, sire.”

Merlin thinks he might be sick. He catches sight of Arthur’s face, his cheeks hollow, skin devoid of all colour and eyes fixed on a meaningless tree ahead.

Gwaine reaches out a hand to Arthur. “Sire--”

Gwaine seems to be struggling to find the words. His gaze is careful and unfamiliar between them.

Arthur’s jaw is clenched, and Gwaine falls silent. “We should get back,” says Arthur. “We’re still a day’s ride to Camelot.”

“Sire,” Elyan agrees, bowing slightly. He pulls on Gwaine’s elbow, turning away with the rest of the men to grant Merlin and Arthur their privacy.

Arthur pauses. “Well, Merlin?”

Merlin doesn’t really know what to say that won’t betray himself, so he doesn’t say anything.

Arthur doesn't mount his horse just yet. Instead he stares at Merlin until the drizzle begins to make his hair drip into his eyes, and Merlin picks the moment that Arthur opens his mouth to pull Arthur’s cape from the side bag.

He leans close to tie it around Arthur’s shoulders. His fingers are clumsy as he knots the string. Then he hesitates, remembering. “I have your chainmail. Do you want me to help you with it?”

Arthur closes his mouth. He nods, and Merlin does, and they go on.


End file.
